Of Wrackspurts and Apologies
by Hecate's Rath
Summary: Luna's not sorry. George/Luna


Author's notes: Not exactly a widely accepted pairing, I know. Give it a chance anyway? Also, this is AU considering that George ends up with Angelina (eurgh), but if you disregard JKR's interviews and the DH epilogue, then… well. We shouldn't have a problem then. Unless George and Luna are cheaters…

But no. I only write Tonks as a cheater. :)

Also: This is for Katy (Bad Mum), Suzanne (WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot), and Rita (Rita Arabella Black) because they're amazing like that. Hope this doesn't disappoint, ladies!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

Three days after the last battle finds George out by the Great Lake, lost in his thoughts as he stands next to the edge. He nearly falls in when a dreamy voice interrupts his train of thought.

"They're worried you're going to jump."

He turns to glance at her, all dirty blonde hair and grey eyes and that blank, vacant stare that makes George think that you could tell the girl to go fuck herself and she'd just smile at you and inform you that you have a moon frog in your hair, or that there was a wrackspurt flying about your face.

"Do they now?" he replies, his voice sounding dead and dull and dry even to his own ears. Ear. He grimaces as he remembers the ear he lost and the way it's metaphorical. He's incomplete—only one ear and no Fred, not anymore. He swallows painfully, his eyes burning.

"It's okay to cry, you know," Luna says, settling down in the grass and patting the spot next to her to indicate that he should sit. He sits, because he has nothing better to do. "I cried a lot when my mum died. I think it helps us, even though it has a nasty habit of attracting blibbering humdingers."

"Blibbering whatsits?" George asks, looking over at the girl, who is concentrating on weaving a daisy chain.

"Blibbering humdingers. Daddy says they're nasty little things."

George feels his face contort unexpectedly and in an unfamiliar way. He is _smiling_.

Luna finishes off her daisy chain and puts it atop George's head like a crown. Her hands slide down to cup his face. "You'll be alright," she says, her cool fingertips tracing down his cheek. "I'm sure you will."

Then she gets up, dusts herself off and pats George on the shoulder before taking off to the castle.

The daisy chain lasts longer than the smile she gave him, but it's nice to smile again, all the same.

* * *

Three weeks after the final battle finds George a bit worse for wear. Quite a _bit_ worse for wear, actually, considering that it's eleven o'clock on a Wednesday morning and he hasn't left his bed (and, by default, the Burrow) for a good two weeks.

Well. Fred's bed, actually, but Fred's not going to be needing it any time soon.

And then suddenly she's there, smelling like flowers and freshly cut grass and sunshine and—he inhales deeply, breathing her scent in. She climbs over him as though it's the most natural thing in the world, and lays down next to him.

"Morning," she says causally, leaning back and crossing her legs at the ankle.

George breathes her in and closes his eyes. He doesn't respond, but he knows Luna won't mind—she's one of those people who can appreciate silence for what it is—and doesn't feel the need to talk incessantly. George gets tired of all the talking going on around him—any time someone comes and sees him, sees how he's faring, they are either talking a mile a minute, uncomfortable around him and not sure what to say, skirting around Fred so obviously that the avoidance is more painful than the actual subject is, or just looking at him awkwardly, not sure what to say and so not saying anything. Luna isn't like that. She's quite content to just _be_ with him—to just exist and allow him to come to terms with it all on his own.

Luna doesn't feel the need to "fix" him and that—in and of itself—makes her one of George's favorite people. Luna allows him to just be George and that's the best kind of healing there is.

They don't say anything other than Luna's "morning" and then her "goodbye, George" later on, but Luna stays and lies with him for a very long time, just _being_ and George is almost sad to see her go.

She leaves her scent in the sheets and the blankets and the pillows and for a few days, George doesn't leave Fred's bed because of the smell that lingers in the sheets.

* * *

Three months after the battle finds George in the shop, a bit lost and a bit disoriented and more than a bit sad and lonely, but he's _back in the shop_ and it feels so _good_ to be back—restocking shelves and bickering with Ron over discounts and prices and sales. It trips him up, finding Fred's things that he left behind, but he had been expecting that, so…

So it still hurts, but he is able to—after a bit—move on past it.

Ginny and Hermione and—to their surprise—Luna pop in around noon with lunch from Mrs. Weasley and they all sit cross legged on the floor and it's like a picnic, a bit, and suddenly…

Suddenly he's remembering the countless times he and Fred did this during the summer and then he looks up and Hermione and Ron and making eyes at each other and it reminds him _so much_ of when Fred and Alicia used to do that before… before he died and then he's stumbling to his feet and excusing himself hastily, clearing his throat as he all but runs from the room.

He knows Luna will be the one that comes after him—he knows Ron and Hermione and Ginny will move to get up and Luna will simply rise gracefully and glide out after him, leaving the other three stumbling and stuttering objections as they go to get up.

She's solemn, more solemn that George has ever seen her look and the next few words that come out of her mouth surprise George, because they have nothing to do with mystical creatures and, besides, they're completely preposterous.

"I'm sorry," she says softly, taking George's hands in hers. "I'm so, so sorry, George."

He looks up at her through blurry eyes and—after a moment of his stuttering and floundering for words—manage to croak out "Why?"

Luna sighs deeply. "It's what you want to hear, isn't it? I mean, here you are, broken into pieces and you've been trying so hard to move on, at least these past few weeks, and while so many people have said 'I'm sorry,' no one knows quite what they're apologizing for, do they? Because they say 'I'm sorry' because it's the _right thing to say_ when someone loses someone else—and I _hate_ that word, you know, George, that word 'lose,' like we've just misplaced them and if we look under the table or double check the closet, they'll pop and out 'Here I am, I've been here the whole time, just waiting for you to find me!' but really they're not lost, they're _dead_, but people can't bring themselves to say that word, they only say 'I'm sorry' and don't know what the hell they're apologizing for.

"And then they feed you some bullshit about understanding what you're going through and then tell you that you'll be okay and you want to _hit_ them, don't you? You want to wipe that understanding, sad smile right off their face because they _don't _get it.

"And the people who use your tragedy as a means to cleanse themselves emotionally, the ones who you don't know who the _hell_ they are and they're sobbing like they knew the dead person personally!

"So, George, I'm not sorry Fred died! I'm not! I'm certainly not _glad_ he's dead, but I'm not going to say that I'm sorry he's dead. And I don't know what the hell you're going through or why you're feeling this way. I don't understand and I'm not going to apologize or tell you that I understand, because I'm not and I don't."

Then Luna runs her fingers through her hair and, tears burning down her cheeks, cups George's face and leans closer.

"I… I'm sorry about that, George, I'm not sure what came over me." She closes her eyes and sighs deeply and George breathes her in.

"Maybe it was a wrackspurt," George whispers quietly, "pesky things."

And Luna smiles and opens her eyes and laughs a little bit and George smiles back and then…

And then he's leaning in and coming closer and closer and now he can see Luna's eyes—_really_ see them, see how there's a very light blue mixed in with the grey and how the irises are very faintly lined in black and how they're shimmering with tears and then…

_Oh_, and _then_…

Then he's pressing his lips to hers and they're soft and warm and kind of damp from her tears and she's kissing back and George is complete and broken and lost and found and a million different places and a million different feelings all at once.

And _he's_ crying and _she's_ crying and then they're laughing and smiling and their noses are bumping and…

And they don't leave the storage room until much later and when they do, it is hand in hand and smiling.

He kisses Luna goodbye and as she walks out to apparate, he is still smiling.

* * *

Three years after the final battle finds George nervous and jittery. He's standing in the small flat above the shop with a bouquet of daisies (Luna hates roses, says they're notorious for wrackspurts) and a ring in his right pocket.

He _knows_ what Luna is going to say, of course, he just…well. There's something nerve-racking about proposing and even though he knows her answer, he was never entirely positive with Luna—she could insist that he accompany her on a four year trip to Sweden to look for the crumple-horned snorkack before she agreed to marry him.

Merlin, he hoped not.

She says yes and there are no prerequisites, thank Godric. He slides the ring onto her finger and she holds it up to the light to examine it. Then she exclaims in delight.

"Oh, look, George! It's a Heliopath egg!"

George examines the diamond and, in the light, it does look a bit like there's a bit of fire caught in it. He kisses the ring and smiles.

"Only the best for you."

Luna blushes and kisses his cheek.

His cheeks ache—he hasn't smiled this long or hard since Fred died.

* * *

Three decades after the final battle finds Luna sitting under a tree next to a grave. She is smiling even as tears make their way slowly down her cheeks.

"I'm not going to say I'm sorry you left," she says, addressing the grave, "because I know you're probably very happy where you are right now. And I miss you, I do, but I know that I'll see you when I get there, so really it's only a bit of a break, isn't it? And, Merlin, after twenty-seven years… Well. A break is hardly a bad thing, you know."

Luna sighs and starts on a daisy chain. "You should know that Fred is handling the shop fine—also that Bridget is pregnant again. Maggie still asks for her granddad sometimes, you know. She misses her favorite playmate. Elizabeth's wedding is coming along fine, too, though she refuses to wear yellow."

Luna laughs and finishes off the daisy chain. "I love you, George." She presses a kiss to the gravestone. "That's to ward off the wrackspurts," she whispers. "And I'm still not sorry."

* * *

AN2: I _struggled_ with the last part. Really. I did. I wrote it five different ways and am still not entirely sure it works...


End file.
